Chapter Text
The house two doors down had been empty for months before you moved in. You'd picked the quiet suburban street for its normalcy—after a messy breakup and a string of soul-crushing shifts at work, you wanted boring. Instead, you got the Smith family.
At first it was just noise: explosions at 3 a.m., a giant talking head screaming through the backyard, a spaceship the size of a minivan parked half on the lawn. You told yourself it was a prank, or maybe a very committed cosplay group. Then you saw him.
Rick Sanchez. Tall, blue-haired, lab coat perpetually stained with god-knows-what. He stumbled out of the garage at all hours, bottle in hand, yelling at the sky or at his grandson or at nothing at all. You started leaving your bedroom window cracked open just to watch. Not in a creepy way—at least that's what you told yourself. It was like living next to a live-action cartoon that occasionally threatened the fabric of reality.
You never meant to get involved.
It was a Thursday night in late summer, the air thick and sticky. You couldn't sleep—so you wandered onto the porch with rum and coke. The garage across the way was open, fluorescent light spilling onto the driveway like a wound.
Rick was inside, hunched over his workbench. He looked worse than usual. Hair wilder, eyes bloodshot, swaying so hard he had to brace himself on the table. A half-empty bottle of something neon green dangled from his fingers. He took a long pull, coughed, and muttered something that ended in a wet burp.
You should have gone inside. Instead you stepped closer to the fence, half-hidden by the shadow of your porch roof, just... watching. The way he moved, even drunk off his ass, still had that terrifying precision. Like chaos wrapped in genius.
He froze.
Slowly, like a predator sensing prey, Rick turned his head. His gaze locked onto you through the darkness. For a second you thought he'd ignore you, or tell you to fuck off. Instead his mouth curved into a crooked, dangerous smirk.
"Well, well," he slurred, voice raspy. "The new neighbor. Been enjoying the show, hic, baby?"
Your heart slammed against your ribs. "I—I didn't mean to stare."
"Bullshit." He laughed, low and bitter, and took another swig. "You've been watching for weeks. Think I wouldn't notice? I notice everything." He gestured wildly with the bottle. "C'mere."
You hesitated. Every sane part of you said no. But the rest of you—the part that had been quietly fascinated by the mad scientist next door—won. You crossed the yard and stepped into the garage.
Up close he smelled like ozone, whiskey, and something metallic. His eyes, unfocused as they were, still pinned you in place.
"Name?" he demanded.
You told him.
He repeated it once, tasting it, then shrugged. "Doesn't matter. You're coming with me."
"Coming where?"
"Doesn't matter either."
He grabbed your wrist—his grip surprisingly strong despite the sway—and pulled you toward the back of the garage. His sleek, battered space cruiser hummed to life at his touch.
You dug your heels in. "Rick, you're hammered. This is insane."
"Insane is my baseline, sweetheart." He shot you that crooked smirk, eyes still glassy. "Get in."
"No."
Rick stopped, blinking at you for a second before letting out an exaggerated sigh.
"Oh, come on. You think I'd wreck my ship because I had a few drinks? I built it. its completely automated, when i want it to be." He tapped the side of his head. "I've piloted this thing through collapsing galaxies with a concussion."
You folded your arms. "That doesn't make me feel better."
"It should." He leaned against the hull, patting it almost affectionately. "Y'know, you've been hanging around watching me long enough to see the explosions, the weapons... but you've never actually seen the good part."
Rick slapped the hull with a smug grin.
"You want to... show me your spaceship?"
"I wanna show you my spaceship." He shot you an offended look. "Difference."
He climbed halfway in before looking back.
"I built this thing outta scrap, busted alien tech, and whatever Earth happened to throw away. She shouldn't exist." He patted the frame affectionately. "Which is exactly why she's beautiful."
"...You're drunk."
"So?"
"So I'm not climbing into a homemade spaceship with a drunk."
Rick rolled his eyes.
Before he could say anything else, a calm female voice echoed from somewhere inside the cruiser.
"Your concern is statistically reasonable."
You froze.
"...Did your ship just talk?"
"Yes."
The voice carried an unmistakable edge of dry amusement.
"And before you ask, yes, he is intoxicated. Blood alcohol concentration is approximately zero-point-one-one."
Rick pointed at the ceiling.
"See? Narc."
"You asked me to monitor your vitals after the incident on Glapflor Seven."
"I asked you to forget about Glapflor Seven."
"You ask me to forget many things. I have chosen not to."
You couldn't help smiling.
"So... she thinks this is a bad idea?"
"Incorrect."
A brief pause.
"I have already compensated for his impaired reaction time by twenty-three percent. Autopilot is engaged. Probability of catastrophic failure remains well below his sober average."
Rick folded his arms triumphantly.
"There."
"...That's somehow less comforting."
"Understandable." the AI replied. "For comparison, traveling with Rick while sober has historically produced inferior safety outcomes due to increased overconfidence."
Rick looked genuinely offended.
"I heard that."
"It was intended to be heard."
You looked between the open door and Rick's ridiculously smug expression.
"...You really just want to show me?"
His grin widened.
"...Yeah, you're obviously bored... im bored."
Despite yourself, you laughed.
"There it is." Rick pointed at you. "See? You're already making better decisions."
The interior was far smaller than you'd expected. From the outside the cruiser looked bulky, but every inch inside had been sacrificed to machinery. Wires disappeared behind dented metal panels. Switches, mismatched gauges, and blinking displays crowded the dashboard, many of them labeled in Rick's hurried handwriting or with symbols you couldn't even begin to decipher.
The cockpit was dominated by a large, dome windshield that wrapped completely around the front of the ship, offering an unobstructed view of whatever impossible corner of the universe Rick decided to fly through next.
Two worn seats out of a car, their cracked leather patched more than once with duct tape.
The place smelled faintly of machine oil, ozone, stale beer, and whatever fuel powered something that definitely wasn't FAA approved. Empty bottles, loose screws, and gadgets with no obvious purpose littered every available surface.
Despite the clutter, there was an unmistakable feeling that every component belonged exactly where Rick wanted it. Chaotic to anyone else. Perfect to him.
"C'mon." His voice lost some of its usual bite.
"...Can you promise we're coming back in one piece?"
He considered it.
"I can promise you're coming back in one piece."
"Rick."
"Fine." He rolled his eyes. "Two pieces, max."
You groaned.
"That wasn't reassuring."
"It wasn't supposed to be reassuring. It was supposed to be funny."
You stared at him for another moment. Beneath the alcohol, beneath the arrogance and the impossible confidence, there was something else—an eagerness he almost never let anyone see. He genuinely wanted to show you this part of his world.
With a resigned shake of your head, you climbed in.
Rick's grin spread instantly.
"Knew you had good instincts."
"I think my instincts are exactly what I'm ignoring."
"That's the spirit."
The second your door closed, Rick slammed the throttle like he was trying to break it. The cruiser rocketed upward so violently you screamed and grabbed the nearest thing—his arm. He cackled, wild and unhinged, blue hair whipping as the ship spun.
"Woo! Feel that? That's what real acceleration feels like! Morty would've puked already. Burp Lightweight."
Stars streaked past in dizzying streaks. Your stomach flipped. Rick was laughing like a kid who'd just stolen the principal's car, one hand loose on the controls, the other passing you a glowing bottle.
"Drink up. I don't do boring passengers."
You took a swig. It hit like rocket fuel and fireworks. Warmth exploded in your chest.
"Atta girl," he drawled, eyes raking over you shamelessly. Even half-lidded and bloodshot, that stare felt filthy. "Most humans tap out after one sip. You're either brave or stupid. I'm hoping for the second—makes this more fun."
The ship suddenly veered sharp. You yelped, sliding across the seat straight into his lap. Rick didn't bother correcting course. He just wrapped an arm around your waist, holding you there like it was his throne.
"Whoops." His voice was low, arrogant, right against your ear. "You're lighter than you look. Bet I could bench-press you. Maybe I will later."
You tried to push back for balance, but his hand splayed possessively across your lower back, fingers slipping just under the hem of your shirt. The touch was hot, deliberate.
"Rick, you're so drunk," you laughed breathlessly.
"Drunk is my default setting, sweetheart. Keeps the genius sharp." He burped loudly against your shoulder, then grinned like he'd told the funniest joke in existence. "Besides, I pilot better shitfaced. Sober me is boring. Sober me follows rules."
He flicked a switch and the artificial gravity cut out. You floated upward; Rick grabbed your hips and yanked you back down so you straddled him. Your knees bracketed his thighs. The position was instantly too intimate, especially with the way he lounged back like a smug king.
"Look at you," he murmured, arrogant smirk firmly in place. "Already climbing into the lap of the smartest man in the universe."
You rolled your eyes even as heat pooled low in your stomach. "You're so full of yourself."
"Damn right I am." He reached up, fingers tangling in your hair, tugging just hard enough to tilt your head back. His other hand wandered lazily down your side, tracing your ribs, your waist, the curve of your hip like he was claiming territory. "And you like it. Don't lie. I've seen you watching me from your window, biting your lip when I blow shit up. Bet you touch yourself thinking about what a mess I could make of you."
Your breath caught. The ship was still spinning lazily through a glittering nebula, colors dancing across his sharp features. He looked feral—blue hair messy, lab coat half-open, cheeks flushed from the booze. Childish, sexy, and utterly convinced he was god's gift to chaos.
You grabbed the front of his shirt, steadying yourself as he veered sharply again. "You're insane."
"Genius," he corrected arrogantly. "Insane is for amateurs."
The bottle floated past your head. Rick snatched it mid-air without looking, took a long pull, then pressed it to your lips. You drank while he watched, eyes dark and hungry. Some of the glowing liquor spilled down your chin; he leaned in and licked it off slowly, deliberately, humming like it was the best thing he'd tasted all night.
"Messy girl," he teased, voice rough. "I like messy."
You kissed him first—just a rough, messy press of lips fueled by liquor and adrenaline. He groaned into it, arrogant even in the way he immediately took control, deepening it like he owned your mouth. His hand fisted in your hair, the other gripping your hip hard enough to bruise.
When you finally broke apart for air, he smirked, lips shiny and swollen.
"You're gonna be addicted after tonight," he bragged almost in a whisper. "One ride with Rick Sanchez and nothing else is ever gonna feel chaotic enough. You'll be back at my garage every night like a good little groupie."
You felt it immediately—his bulge, hard and insistent under the thin fabric of his pants, pressing right against your core. Thick. Hot. Impossible to ignore with how you were seated. A sharp jolt of heat shot through you.
Shit. Should we? Your brain screamed the sane thing. I barely know him. This is insane. He's drunk, I'm drunk, we're floating through goddamn space—
But your body had other ideas. Rick Sanchez was radiating pure chaos and sex, arrogant and messy and so goddamn sexy it hurt. The way his lab coat hung open, shirt underneath lifted, exposing his lower stomach. His hands—large, calloused from a thousand impossible inventions—gripped your hips like he already owned you. That cocky smirk, those half-lidded, predatory eyes. The smell of ozone, whiskey, and pure Rick.
Your hips twitched involuntarily, grinding down just a fraction. His cock jumped against you in response.
Rick's breath hitched, then he let out a low, filthy chuckle that turned into a burp.
"Ohhh, there she is, Feel that, baby?
Yeah, you do." He rolled his hips up deliberately, dragging his hard length against your clothed heat in a slow, teasing grind.
You bit your lip, torn between embarrassment and raw want. "Rick... we shouldn't. I barely know you—"
"Bullshit," he interrupted. One hand slid up your back under your shirt, nails scratching lightly down your spine. "You know enough. You know I'm the smartest motherfucker in the multiverse. You know I can make you see stars without even leaving this chair." He squeezed your ass with the other hand, kneading it possessively. "And you definitely know you're soaked already. Don't lie to me, I can feel it through your pants."
He was right. The friction, the heat of him, the sheer arrogance in his voice—it was driving you crazy. You rocked against him again, slower this time, chasing the pressure. A soft moan slipped out before you could stop it.
Rick groaned, head tipping back against the seat. "Fuuuck, that's it. Grind on it like a good girl. Look at you—barely know me and you're already humping my cock like you need it." His laugh was wrecked, drunk and delighted. "Humans. So predictable. So fun."
He suddenly sat up straighter, pulling you tighter against him. His mouth crashed into yours—messy, demanding, all tongue and teeth. One of his hands guided your hips in slow, filthy circles against his bulge.
Every roll of your hips made him thicker, harder. He was big—obviously—and the way he throbbed against you through the layers of fabric had your clit pulsing with every pass.
When he broke the kiss, a string of spit connected your lips. He licked it away arrogantly, then nipped at your bottom lip.
"Still think we shouldn't?" he taunted, voice husky. "Say the word and I'll stop. I'm a gentleman... sometimes." His hips bucked up sharply, grinding his cock right against your clit and making you whimper. "But we both know you don't want me to. You've been fantasizing about this exact shit, haven't you? Drunk, crazy Rick ruining you in his spaceship."
Your hands fisted in his shirt. The conflict was still there—this is reckless, you barely know him—but it was drowning fast under pure need.
"Fuck... Rick," you breathed, rolling your hips again, chasing more of that delicious friction. "You're such an asshole."
"Yeah, but I'm your asshole tonight," he shot back with a cocky grin, then bit down on your neck, sucking a mark into your skin while his hands roamed everywhere. "C'mon, baby. Let me feel how wet you are."
You barely had time to gasp before one of his large hands slid down your stomach, fingers dipping boldly under the waistband of your pants. No hesitation. No asking. Just pure Rick—arrogant, greedy, and completely convinced he could take whatever he wanted.
His palm was hot against your skin as he pushed lower, calloused fingertips brushing over your panties. He let out a low, delighted laugh that turned into a burp when he felt how soaked you already were.
"Goddamn." he crowed, voice thick with smug satisfaction. "You're fucking dripping. All this for me? I've barely touched you." His fingers rubbed slow, teasing circles over your clit through the thin fabric, pressing just hard enough to make your hips jerk.
"Rick—" Your voice came out breathy, half protest, half moan. We shouldn't. I barely know him. The thought flickered weakly in the back of your mind, but it dissolved the second he shoved his hand fully down your pants, bypassing your panties entirely.
His fingers slid through your slick folds, arrogant and exploratory, like he was claiming new territory. Two long fingers parted you, stroking up and down before circling your clit with practiced pressure. The direct skin-on-skin contact made you cry out, grinding down harder against his bulge and his hand at the same time.
"That's it," he murmured against your neck, nipping and sucking marks into your skin while his fingers worked you open. "Feel how wet you are? Sloppy little pussy just begging for genius fingers." He pushed one long finger inside you without warning, curling it instantly against that spot that made your vision spark.
You clenched around him, moaning loud enough that it echoed in the small cockpit. Rick laughed—childish, triumphant—and added a second finger, stretching you as he pumped them deep and slow.
"Fuck, you're tight," he groaned, voice husky. His cock twitched hard against your thigh through his pants. He scissored his fingers, curling them again and again while his thumb found your clit and rubbed messy, drunken circles. His other hand stayed on your ass, squeezing and guiding your hips to ride his hand like you were riding his cock.
"Ride it, baby. Show me how bad you've wanted this." His arrogant smirk never faded, even as his own breathing got ragged. "Bet you touched yourself thinking about me. Thinking about the crazy old scientist next door bending you over his workbench. Well here I am—drunk, hard, and knuckles-deep in your greedy little hole."
You were losing it. The combination of his filthy words, those long fingers fucking into you perfectly, and the relentless pressure of his bulge grinding against you had you trembling. Every thrust of his hand made wet sounds that would've been embarrassing if you weren't so far gone.
Rick leaned in, kissing you deep and sloppy, tongue fucking your mouth in time with his fingers. When he pulled back, his eyes were wild, pupils blown.
"C'mon, baby," he taunted right against your ear, voice husky and childish all at once. "Let me feel it. Squeeze my fingers. Soak my hand while we're floating through goddamn space. Show me how bad you've wanted the crazy old man next door to wreck you."
Your orgasm crashed into you hard and sudden.
"Rick—!" You cried out, body seizing up as pleasure ripped through you. Your pussy clenched tight around his fingers, pulsing and gushing as you came. Your hips stuttered, grinding down desperately while waves of it rolled through you, soaking his hand and your panties.
Rick groaned loudly, eyes half-lidded in pure smug satisfaction as he kept working you through it, slower now but still deep, drawing out every last shudder.
"Fuuuuck yes," he praised, voice wrecked. "That's right! You came so easy for me. Look at the mess you made." He finally pulled his hand free, holding it up between you. His fingers glistened with your release. Without breaking eye contact, he brought them to his mouth and licked them clean with a filthy moan.
"Mmm. My favourite." He smirked, arrogant as ever, then grabbed the back of your neck and pulled you into a messy, hungry kiss so you could taste yourself on his tongue.
"That was too easy," he said, burping softly as he leaned back in the chair like a king. His hands roamed your body lazily now—possessive, teasing. "You cum that quick every time, or am I just that good?"
You were still catching your breath, thighs trembling around him, mind hazy with aftershocks and way too much alien liquor.
"Yeah... I am that good," answering himself. " You think these fingers are skilled? Wait 'til you feel the full Rick Sanchez special."
You let out a breathless laugh, still hazy. "You're so fucking full of yourself..."
"Damn right." He grabbed your hips and ground up against you, letting you feel every inch of his hard cock. "And you're about to be full of me."
His hands moved with drunk impatience now. He shoved your pants and panties down your thighs in one messy motion, not even bothering to take them all the way off. They bunched around one ankle as he freed himself from his own pants. His cock sprang out—thick, long, and leaking at the tip.
You stared. Fuck.
"Like what you see?" he taunted, wrapping a hand around himself and giving one lazy stroke. "Bet you've been imagining this every time you watched me from your window. Now it's real. Try not to fall in love after I ruin you, okay?"
"Rick..." You shifted forward, bracing your hands on his shoulders. The conflict flickered again—you barely knew him, this was reckless—but the ache between your legs won. "Just... fuck me already."
His eyes lit up with pure chaotic delight. "There she is. Knew you'd beg."
He didn't wait. One hand guided his cock to your slick entrance, rubbing the head through your folds, teasing your clit until you whined. Then, with a cocky grin, he pushed in.
The stretch was intense. He was thick, and he didn't go slow. He sank in deep in one smooth thrust, burying himself to the hilt with a low, satisfied groan.
"Fuuuuck," he hissed, head tipping back. "So goddamn tight. Greedy little pussy sucking me right in. That's it—take every inch like you were made for it."
You moaned loudly, nails digging into his shoulders as you adjusted to the full feeling. He was deep, throbbing inside you, hitting places that made your vision spark.
Rick gave you barely a moment before he started moving—chaotic, arrogant, drunken thrusts that bounced you in his lap. The ship's low gravity made every movement feel exaggerated, weightless and dirty.
"Rick— fuck, you're so big—"
Rick let out a low, smug chuckle, clearly pleased with himself. He gripped your hips tighter, pulling you down onto him as he thrust up hard, savoring the way your body stretched around him.
"Yeah? You like how deep I get?" he rasped, voice thick with arrogance and lust. "That's right, baby. Nobody else will fill you up like I do. Nobody else will stretch that tight little pussy the way I can. You're fucking ruined for anyone else."
He slammed into you again, grinding deep as he held you in place, making sure you felt every inch of him.
You started moving with him, rolling your hips, taking him deeper. The angle was perfect, his cock dragging against that spot inside you with every thrust. Pleasure built fast again, embarrassingly fast.
Rick noticed. Of course he did.
"Gonna cum again already?" he mocked, but his voice was getting strained, thrusts losing rhythm as he chased his own high. "Do it. Cum on my cock. Let me feel this pussy milk me while we're lost in space."
He reached between you, thumb finding your clit again, rubbing tight circles as he pounded up into you.
The combination sent you over the edge.
You came hard the second time, clenching around his thick length, crying out his name as your orgasm ripped through you. Rick groaned loudly, hips stuttering.
"Fuck—good girl. That's my neighbour."
He didn't stop, fucking you through it with messy, arrogant thrusts until his own release hit. With a wrecked moan and a string of burps, he buried himself deep and came, filling you up in hot pulses.
For a long moment, the only sounds were both of you panting, the ship's hum, and distant stars streaking by.
Rick slumped back in the chair, still buried inside you, hands lazily stroking your back under your shirt.
"Not bad for a random Thursday night," he mumbled, drunk and satisfied, pressing a surprisingly soft kiss to your collarbone. "You're sticking around, right? I've got more where that came from..."
You didn't answer right away. You just leaned against him, catching your breath, feeling him twitch inside you.
Yeah... you were definitely sticking around. You stayed straddling Rick, his cock still softening inside you, both of you sticky and breathless. He kept one arm loosely around your waist, the other lazily reaching for another bottle.
He took a long pull, then offered it to you with a crooked, satisfied smirk.
"Not bad, neighbour girl," he mumbled, voice thick with liquor and sex. "Not bad at all."
You laughed weakly, still trembling as you took the bottle. "You're still an arrogant asshole."
"Accurate." He burped loudly, then grinned.
Eventually the high started to fade. Rick slapped your ass playfully—childish as ever—and finally lifted you off him with surprising strength. He tucked himself back into his pants with zero shame while you shakily pulled your own clothes back into place.
"Time to head back to boring-ass Earth" he said, slumping into his seat and kicking the controls like they'd personally offended him.
The ship lurched violently as he spun it around. You grabbed the seat for dear life, still feeling the ache between your legs and the warm mess of his cum leaking out of you. Rick cackled the whole way, one hand on the controls, the other resting possessively on your thigh like it belonged there now.
The ride back was chaotic—barrel rolls for fun, random hyperspace jumps that made your stomach flip, and Rick narrating the entire time like a drunken tour guide.
"See that asteroid belt? I blew up a bigger one last week. You're welcome for not dying, by the way."
When the ship finally screamed through Earth's atmosphere and crash-landed (gently, for Rick) in the garage, the clock on the wall said it was nearing dawn. The garage was still a mess of half-finished inventions and empty bottles.
Rick killed the engines and leaned back, looking at you with heavy-lidded eyes. His hair was even wilder than usual, lab coat open, bite marks visible on his neck that you definitely didn't remember leaving. He looked thoroughly fucked and extremely pleased about it.
"So..." He dragged the word out, arrogant smirk returning. "You gonna run back to your quiet little house and pretend this didn't happen? Or are you gonna admit you're already addicted to a little chaos?"
You shifted in the seat, sore in the best way, feeling the evidence of what you'd just done, pooling in your panties. The conflict from earlier was still there—you barely knew him, this was insane—but the memory of how easily he'd made you come, how deep he'd fucked you among the stars, made it hard to care.
"I'm not running."
Rick's smirk widened into something almost genuine. He pulled you in for another rough kiss, before letting go.
"Good choice. Next time I won't go so easy on you." He said with a snicker.
Your eyes widened, as you stared at him in disbelief.
"...You were going easy on me?" you asked, voice hoarse and surprised.
Rick just snorted.
He helped you out of the ship on shaky legs, one hand steady on your lower back as you stepped into the garage. The early morning light was just starting to creep in. Somewhere inside the house you could hear faint sounds of the Smith family waking up.
Rick walked you to the edge of the garage, then stopped. For a second he just looked at you—disheveled, marked up, glowing with that post-sex haze.
"Get some sleep, neighbour," he said, surprisingly soft for him. Then the arrogance snapped back. "And maybe invest in some better curtains. I notice everything."
You smiled, turning to head back to your house two doors down.
Behind you, Rick called out one last time, voice carrying across the quiet suburban street:
"Same time tomorrow night? I've got a dimension where the gravity's optional and the liquor's stronger. Could be fun."
You didn't answer.
But you both knew you'd be watching the garage again.